The Picture Of A Doctor
by Thaddeus Halstead
Summary: Donna and the Doctor find themselves in 1890s London where they momentarily meet Dorian Gray, and they find striking similarities between the Doctor and the youthful decadent.


A Doctor's Portrait

In the bleak vastness of space, the black nothingness where some have traveled, realized how inferiorly small they are in comparison with the size of the universe and gone mad, there floated a lone blue box. Amongst the stars, mere pinpricks billions of miles in the distance, the TARDIS was comfortably at home. Within, a Time Lord scrambled at the controls while a redheaded human watched with a smarmy grin.

"Need some help?"

"Nope! I've got it all under control—"

The Doctor, both of his hands busy fiddling with their own switches, stretched his leg out as far as it could reach to kick a lever into the "on" position.

"You just stand right there, Donna. Make yourself comfortable. Entertain yourself."

"Oh, I'm _very_ entertained as it is, Doctor."

The Doctor glared at Donna and ran around to the other side of the console and rapidly smashed down a red button thrice. An alarm sounded, and the TARDIS shook.

"That can't be good," said Donna, bracing for impact. Her arms latched onto the nearest stable object: a twisted, tree branch-like pillar.

"Come on!"

Closing his eyes, the Doctor threw his right hand down onto the panel of buttons, pushing a number of colored buttons. The alarm ceased, but the tremors grew worse.

"Doctor!" shouted Donna. She lost her grip and slid into the Doctor.

"Open your eyes!" she said. "Press something!"

"It's fine, it's fine—_oof_."

"Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop it this instant!"

The Doctor kicked the console, but it was futile.

"Yep," he said, suddenly calm. The man in the striped blue suit leaned back against the console. He crossed his legs and turned his head toward Donna, totally relaxed.

She looked at him like he was absolutely mad, then said out loud: "You are absolutely mad."

"I know," was the riposte. He looked perfectly delighted.

The Doctor grinned wildly and gave Donna a thumbs-up.

"_Heeeeeey_," said the Doctor and slammed his left fist onto the shaking console.

Suddenly, the TARDIS stopped its shuddering. The lights went black and came back on showing a glowering redhead.

"Does that always work, Fonzie?"

"Always."

"Where are we?"

"'Dunno. Want to find out?"

"What else is there to do?"

"Oh, I don't know. You could stay here; we could have partake on some tea and crumpets—I've found tea to be quite reinvigorating in the past; perhaps—"

"Sometimes you—"

"Shall we?"

The Doctor offered his arm. Donna gave the Doctor one of her looks, and he shrugged in return. The duo retreated from the TARDIS.

---

The air was warm and altogether lovely. It was nighttime, and a quick survey of their surroundings told them that they were in London. The TARDIS had materialized outside of the opera, as there were many men, some courting elegant women, well-dressed in top hats and the like.

"When do you think we are?" asked Donna, giddily.

The Doctor licked his lips and said:

"Judging by the way people are dressed, I'd say late nineteenth century, maybe the eighteen-nineties. Very Victorian. Let's take a walk in the park. It's splendid out."

Donna and the Doctor passed the hordes of Londoners and made their way to a lovely little park bathed in moonlight.

"It's so nice out," sighed Donna, closing her eyes and tasting the air. When Donna opened her eyes and glanced askance at the Doctor, she found him staring across the green at a man in evening dress.

"Who is he?" she asked, breathlessly.

"I – don't know."

"Wanna take a closer look?"

The Doctor nodded, and they slunk through the shadows toward the man whom the Doctor found so familiar – something _je ne sais quoi_ about him.

"Boy, he is a hunk." Donna slapped the Doctor on the chest with the back of her hand. She fanned her reddening face. The man was shuffling slowly down the sidewalk, his mind somewhere far away. His unblemished face held a certain innocence, a purity which few could boast of. The straight, narrow nose; the cloudy-grey eyes; the light, almost child-like features of the face; the thin fingers that stroked the dark, perfect hair. He couldn't have been older than twenty.

"He is _so_ dreamy. Do you know him?" The Doctor gulped and turned his eyes down.

"Yes, I do. Follow me."

Fleeing from the park, the Doctor took Donna to a splendid house not far from the park. Checking that no one was watching, the Doctor flourished his sonic screwdriver and unlocked the front door. They entered, and the Doctor led her upstairs where he utilized the screwdriver again. They piled into the room, which seemed utterly unused for years, except for the far wall where a satin sheet covered a picture adorning the wall.

"Where are we? Who was that man?"

"That was Dorian Gray."

Donna looked confused, so the Doctor continued:

"_The Picture of Dorian Gray_? Oscar Wilde? Don't you read?"

"Bollocks, Doctor."

"Dorian Gray traded his soul for eternal beauty. He traded places with this painting—" the Doctor gestured to the sheet "—so his painting grows older and shows the sin of his soul, rather than his face.

"Pull down the cover, Donna." Suddenly, his companion looked very scared and trembled.

She asked in a trepid voice: "What will I see?"

The Doctor looked past her at the mysterious painting.

Obviously shaken, she stretched out her hand and tugged lightly on the cover. It fell in soft ripples, and Donna gasped. The sudden intake of breath stole her ability to stand, and she fell back into an ornate chair in which a man had once died. A long, gleaming knife lying on the table caught Donna's eye, and she averted them.

"It's hideous," she sobbed.

The Doctor was silent.

"Can you imagine? Never growing older, nothing changing, the same youthful—" Donna stopped all of a sudden and a hateful, furtive look crossed her face as it passed over the Doctor.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor—" He is you, she nearly said.

Her tall, thin traveling companion suddenly looked very morose, and very, very old. A diminishing fire burned in his eyes as he stared at the hideous visage of Dorian Gray's soul.

As he pulled the sheet back over the portrait, a feeling of oppression lifted over the small room.

"He will kill himself tonight," the Doctor said laconically.

Tear-streaked, Donna was stricken speechless, and a silence settled over them for several minutes. When they both heard the opening and closing of the door down below, they sprung into action. They snuck out of the room and managed to withdraw from the house without being seen by anyone.

Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor was standing rigidly, facing away from Donna. She touched his shoulder, and he did not push her away.

She seemed to understand his unspoken words, and for a moment she felt connected to him; she could feel his sadness, the burden of his hundreds of years, dozens of companions whom he had left behind – or who had left him. She understood.

In accordance with his usual fashion, the Doctor brightened in an instant, clapped his hands together, and ejected:

"Well! Where to next? There's a fantastic restaurant at the end of the universe. Well, it's nice. Heard about it from a friend of a friend… of a friend."

"That sounds lovely." Donna smiled.

The Doctor grinned, and the looking glass into his soul was closed again.


End file.
